


Burning

by paperdream



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, FebuWhump2021, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Whump, soft jonmartin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdream/pseuds/paperdream
Summary: Jon has a flashback to Jude Perry in the safehouse.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 136





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> written for the febuwhump day 22 prompt "burned"

Midway through reading one of the few statements he’d had tucked into his jacket when they fled (he couldn’t _wait_ for the ones Basira had promised to mail to come through; he was _starving_ , even as he hated himself for it) something seemed to strike at the very core of Jon’s being, stiffening his posture and tightening his muscles. It wasn’t the usual fear of a statement; this was something else, layered on top of the absorbed terror of secondhand fear. Something was _wrong_.

He couldn’t look away from the statement, of course. Ever since Annabelle Cane had drawn his attention to it, Jon had found it more and more difficult to draw any thread of his consciousness away from a statement in progress. Words continued to spill into the recorder at an even, unfeeling pace. His voice didn’t tremble even as his throat choked with fear. He needed to know what was happening, if they were in danger, if  _Martin_ was in danger!  Unseen danger seemed to stalk around him, dark and filled with evil intent.

He was near panic when the statement finally ended, tossing the papers to the floor and standing, whirling around for the source of the anomaly his subconscious had recognized. He caught a whiff of it as he turned to face the kitchen. 

Burning. 

It wasn’t even meat burning, but the smell combined with his anxiety  and  tipped him over the edge. 

He was trapped, something pretending to be a hand clamped tight around his and it was never going to let go. Burning. It would press hot wax and Desolation into his flesh until it ran up his bones and burned him to ash from the inside out. _Burning._ It _hurt_ , he was dying-

“-on? Jon!”

There was a hand against his cheek, his  _face_ , and he flinched, making an animal noise. The hand jerked away as his brain caught up to his actions- the hand had been cool, even  _cold_ . He leaned forward, chasing the sweet relief that might  quench the killing flame.

“Jon.” The hand rested gently against his cheek, and he pressed into it. It remained cool against his skin, a counterpoint to the pain in his hand.  The voice was soft, familiar, comforting, opposite in every way to the roar of flames and the sizzle of meat.  “You’re safe. We’re in Daisy’s safehouse, in Scotland. You’re safe.”

He realized he was still standing in the cramped living room of the cottage, arms wrapped around himself (unmarred, or  at least only as marred as  usual ) and terrified whimpers beating from his throat. 

The hand was attached to an arm, and the arm was attached to- “Martin.”

The other man smiled tentatively. “You back with me?”

Jon nodded. His head felt light, and his throat was raw. He brought both hands to his face and used them to clamp Martin’s hand in place before collapsing onto the sofa, forcing Martin to follow his movement and keeping the saving  cold in range of his senses.

He took a few careful breaths, staring at nothing. Martin sat patiently opposite him. When he was certain he wasn’t going to vomit, Jon surged forward and buried himself in Martin’s chest.

Martin’s jumper was warm, but it was almost as comforting as the cold of his Lonely-frozen hands. This wasn’t a heat that scorched out everything you loved and made you live with a scar that would never fade; it was a comforting heat, warm tea after a hard day and the knowledge that he was loved.

Martin slowly wrapped his arms around Jon,  hesitating a moment as he processed having another body so close and  giving  Jon plenty of time to pull away if he wanted. Jon curled closer into him, until his whole body was contained within Martin’s lap and the circle of his arms, face pressed into his jumper, seeing nothing. 

“ That was a bad one.”

Jon hummed in response, and started to nod. He didn’t think the gesture was especially visible, but it rubbed his cheek against the softness of the jumper, so he kept doing it. 

Martin’s tone was careful, trying to balance respect for Jon’s boundaries and state with the Lonely awkwardness that might never leave his interactions. “Do you know what set it off?”

“Burning,” Jon mumbled into Martin’s chest, clenching and unclenching his scarred hand. 

Martin drew in a squeaking little gasp. “ Oh!  I got distracted and the pancake I was making started to burn! I’m so sorry, Jon!” His hand rubbed anxious little circles on Jon’s back.

“Not your fault.” Jon reluctantly pulled back to meet Martin’s eyes. “It was just- bad timing. I can usually handle it, but I noticed something was wrong in the middle of a statement and didn’t know what it was, and by the time I finished-” His words were cut off with a gasping breath. He held it, trying to keep it from becoming a sob.  He stared into Martin’s eyes, desperate for his love not to blame himself for Jon’s weakness.

Martin ran a hand through his hair and Jon leaned into the touch.  A guilty little furrow persisted between his brows.  “I’m still sorry. Do you want to go lie down?”

Jon shook his head. “Can we, can we just move on?”

Martin smiled. “Of course.”

Jon let some of the tension leave his shoulders. He cocked his head, working a sly little smile  onto his face . “Pancake?”

“Oh!” Martin blushed and looked down. “I just thought- breakfast for dinner? It’s silly, we can order in if you-”

Jon cut him off by  ducking in a nd planting a kiss on his mouth. It still sent a shiver up his spine every time he did it, the disbelief that he had this, that he was  _allowed_ to kiss Martin practically whenever he wanted. His smile spread and became more genuine,  and he rested his cheek against Martin’s shoulder again, keeping their faces close . “Breakfast for dinner sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed! And come find me on tumblr @inklingofadream!


End file.
